


just wanna stay awhile

by sulyya



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ballroom Dancing, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, F/M, Flirting, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23656720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulyya/pseuds/sulyya
Summary: He watches her from afar.Standing alone, a wide berth given to her by the nervous nobles, is Morrigan, beautiful and wild, dressed in blue feathers, gold studs, and plum velvet. Her pale hands rest upon the marble balustrade, her nails - painted black as always - tap against the stone over and over. She’s watching the dancing, purple lips pursing as she does and yellow eyes roaming over the faces of the crowds. Sama cannot help but stare at her, and she must sense his gaze, as she looks up and their eyes finally meet.Two lovers reunite at Halamshiral, and share a moment on the dance floor.
Relationships: Male Mahariel/Morrigan (Dragon Age), Morrigan/Male Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	just wanna stay awhile

**Author's Note:**

> a couple of things: samahlen mahariel is part of the inquisition bc fuck bioware, i want my warden. my personal headcanon is that he travelled for months with hawke in the sea of ash to find a cure for the calling and decided to go with hawke to skyhold and join the inquisition when varric got in touch. also, i imagine morrigan didn't join the orlesian court in 9:37 like the wiki say but in 9:40, so she's been there for only a few months by the time of the quest (which i picture happening around mid-9:41)
> 
> enjoy!

He watches her from afar.

He’d seen her descend the stairs in the vestibule, and the world had seemed to stop. He’s not seen her months, communication kept up through letters that were no substitute for her company. He’s painted a pretty picture of their reunion on multiple occasions, the fantasy sometimes being the one thing that kept him sane during his travels into the far west. And, in that moment, the fantasy was thrown completely out of the window in favour of him staring, gobsmacked and mesmerised, across a crowded vestibule and most likely making himself look a gawking fool to the Orlesian nobles who’d commandeered his attentions.

She hadn’t seen him when she’d come down the stairs, or she had seen him and was not letting on that she had, for she only has eyes for the Inquisitor, speaking to the man in low tones and handing himself small and glinting before she slips into the ballroom. The Inquisitor disappears in a different direction, and Sama manages to excuse himself from the nobles to reenter the ballroom.

It’s just as crowded in the ballroom as it had been in the vestibule, with swathes of nobles gathered around the edges of the floor, watching the dancing below and drinking merrilly amongst themselves. He easily slips around the groups, scanning the crowds for her. He comes to stop beside the table Leliana has taken for herself, and where she’s largely being left alone. He’s not surprised by that fact; Leliana is one of the best players of the Orlesians’ game, but she can be terrifying and unapproachable when she wishes.

She holds out a glass goblet filled with red wine, a small smile on her face and her eyes glinting behind her golden mask - she is one of the few members of the Inquisition, alongside the circle mage and the ambassador, who had deigned to wear one, whilst the rest, including the Inquisitor himself, have refused. Sama takes the offered wine and takes a sip, letting out a hum at the taste.

“Shiraz?” he asks her.

“From the vineyards outside Seleny,” she says with a nod, sipping at her own glass. “9:22 vintage, I believe. It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Lovely,” Sama says sincerely, but his eyes still scan the crowd.

Leliana knows; he’s not surprised when she rests a hand on his arm to get his attention before pointing across the dancefloor. “She’s there.”

Sama looks, and she is. Standing alone, a wide berth given to her by the nervous nobles, is Morrigan, beautiful and wild, dressed in blue feathers, gold studs, and plum velvet. Her pale hands rest upon the marble balustrade, her nails - painted black as always - tap against the stone over and over. She’s watching the dancing, purple lips pursing as she does and yellow eyes roaming over the faces of the crowds. Sama cannot help but stare at her, and she must sense his gaze, as she looks up and their eyes finally meet.

He swears that, for the most miniscule moment, a small smile graces her face, and her entire body softens, and Sama cannot help but smile right back at her. Then the moment passes, and she rebuilds her facade, drawing her spine straight and her head tall once more. She maintains eye contact however, and gives the barest inclination of her head. A question.

_Join me?_

He nods, and she looks away.

He drains his goblet in one and places it down on the table. “Excuse me, Leliana.”

She’s smiling. She doesn’t mind. And he knows she’ll be watching them the whole time.

He walks around the floor and comes to her side, close but not close enough for them to touch. He rests his hands on the balustrade, inches away from her own fingers. He wants to reach out, wants to touch her, to take her away from this room and find somewhere private to have a real reunion, because he knows she has a carefully maintained image in this place, and he cannot risk it lest he risk her reputation. Even after all these years, she still portrayed herself as the unapproachable witch; if he jeopardises that, he’ll never hear the end of it.

There’s a thousand things he wants to say to her, but, instead, he says, with a smile, “Well, well. What have we here?”

There’s the slightest twitch to the corners of her mouth.

“Lady Morrigan,” he says, “The infamous Witch of the Wilds, wearing a dress and attending an Orlesian ball. Ten years ago, you wouldn’t have been caught dead in a dress.”

“Ten years ago, there was no need for me to wear a dress,” she snarks, and Sama almost melts at the sound of her voice. Oh, how he’s everything about her, from the permanent annoyance in her tone to the smell of herbs and ozone that he’s come to think of as home. “You, of all people, should know of the sacrifices one must make for duty.”

Sama laughs, and then his voice softens. “It’s good to see you.”

She finally turns her face towards him; he cannot take his eyes away from her piercing yellow ones, afraid that if he blinks then she’ll be gone. “And you. The months have been long.” She glances around them, her eyes narrowing at the sight of staring nobles. “Careful how you speak in these walls. There are vultures abound.”

Below, the musicians bring the current song to a close, and the dancers finish to a round of great applause from across the ballroom. A stupid idea pops into his head, and he can almost guarantee that she will say no, but he’s so desperate to speak with her and hold her body close to his for at least a few moments that he asks, “Dance with me?”

She turns her narrowed eyes onto him. Her lip curls. “I beg your pardon?”

“Dance with me.” He steps back from the balustrade and bows to her, holding out his hand for her to take. “The dance floor is loud, and we can finally talk.”

“And draw the eyes of the entire Orlesian nobility?” she scoffs. “Tis hardly discreet.”

“Please?” he says, doing his best impression of a hurt puppy. “It’s been months, Morrigan. Let’s have just a few minutes.”

A new group of dancers is taking to the floor, and the band is preparing for the next song. Morrigan finally lets out a loud sigh and reluctantly takes his hand, rolling her eyes at the overly happy expression on his face. He leads her down the stairs, clutching to her hand like a lifeline; she will deny it later, of course, but she is holding onto him just as tightly, her thumb rubbing the back of his hand soothingly.

She’s right, of course. The second they descend the stairs to the dance floor, the eyes of the entire court turn to them; their fellow dancers are whispering amongst themselves, and give them a wide berth. He looks around the edges of the dance floor, and spots Leliana through the crowd, a fresh glass of wine in hand and a smile on her face. She raises her glass in a toast to them, and the music starts.

It’s a slow song, made for a waltz, and they dance it perfectly. Where Morrigan learned to dance like this he does not know, but she moves like she was made for the floor, her eyes boring into him the whole time. He spins her, and the crowd lets out a gasp as her skirts twirl. She spins back to his body, and he’s smiling widely.

“You dance beautifully, Lady Morrigan,” he says.

“As do you, Commander Mahariel,” she replies. “But you did not ask me to dance to simply exchange compliments.”

“Did I not?” Sama meets her piercing gaze. “After all, I adore complimenting you. You get so flustered your ears turn red.”

“They do not.”

“Then why are they red right now?”

Morrigan’s entire face is red and her eyes stormy. “You are immature, ridiculous -”

“'- an imbecile, a complete tease, and I detest you',” Sama finishes for her, looking proud of himself despite her thunderous expression.

“I’m glad you find yourself amusing.”

“I’m not going to fight you, _ma’lath_ ,” he says, his tone softer now. “I just want to spend time with you. The months were long, and I’ve missed you something terrible.”

“Keep up these sugary words and I will vomit.”

“Can’t you just admit you missed me too?”

“I cannot as it would be a lie.” Sama raises an eyebrow and she grits her teeth. “Fine, I missed you. Terribly so. Does that please you?”

Sama beams. “Immensely.”

“Imbecile.”

“I adore you.”

She’s annoyed with him, but there is a fondness to her expression when she looks back up at him. They follow the other dancers, spinning around the dance floor in circles, Sama relishing the feel of Morrigan’s slight waist beneath his hand.

“I am surprised you are here,” she says. “You said you were with the Inquisition, but I did not think you would be invited.”

“The Inquisitor asked me personally,” Sama says. ‘Asked’ was a polite way of referring to how Inquisitor Falon had practically begged him to come along to Halamshiral. He was one of the only Dalish elves in the Inquisition, and the only one of enough distinction and familiarity to the Inquisitor to be offered an invitation; the Inquisitor had almost cried with relief when Sama had agreed to come along. “I couldn’t just allow one of the People to walk alone in the mouths of sharks.”

“From what I hear, your Inquisitor is quickly charming the court,” Morrigan remarks. “He even had a chance to speak with the Dowager, and she is not one to suffer fools.”

“Not surprising. Leliana taught him the ways of the game for months to prepare him for this.”

“And how is our illustrious spymaster?” There’s a small smirk on Morrigan’s face; she and Leliana were never close friends. “Off cutting out someone’s tongue?”

“She’s watching us dance, actually.” They spin around the dance floor and Morrigan catches sight of Leliana, red hair hidden beneath a deep blue hood and a golden brooch at the base of her throat. Leliana raises her glass to them once more when they catch her eye, and Morrigan lets out a little scoff.

“Only she could find time to enjoy herself at an event such as this,” Morrigan says disdainfully. “An assassin is on the loose and Leliana drinks wine like water and criticizes fashion.”

“She can multitask,” Sama says, feeling the need to be protective all of sudden, though Leliana would hate him being so as much as Morrigan does. “Besides, it’s nice to see her unwind a little. Things are serious at Skyhold.”

“The Inquisition is seeking to face down a Blighted magister from the dawn of time,” Morrigan says. “Of course things would be serious. I’d be concerned if your Inquisitor did not take the threat seriously.” She eyes him. “Is this why you have joined the ranks of the faithful?”

“Yes. Hawke knows of Corypheus. We thought it’d be best if I went with him to share what knowledge I have as well.”

“Have you learned much?”

He shakes his head. Their voices have dropped low in pitch; this is a conversation they absolutely do not want others to hear. “Very little. The leads you gave me didn’t turn up much, and the Sea of Ash is just that. Ash. It’s a wild goose chase.”

“Is Commander Mahariel admitting defeat?”

“Of course I’m not.” It comes out more biting than he intended, but Morrigan, mercifully, does not take offense. “I want to live long, and I want to die peacefully in my bed with the woman I love, not begging to the Creators in some dank, dark cavern with a hurlock’s sword in my chest.”

Morrigan’s eyes are unusually soft, and her voice - which borders on quavering - betrays her emotions. “How is it? The Calling? Can you bear it?”

“I try not to think of it,” he admits. It’s always there, of course, scratching at the back of his mind. In these times with her, when he’s focusing on the feel of her hand in his, on the musky smell of her hair, he can ignore the Calling. He can pretend the end of his life is not around the corner, beckoning him to meet a messy end miles beneath the earth. When he thinks of it now, it grows worse, loud and ringing, the song becoming part of his very being, and he shudders.

Morrigan’s expression changes; she looks almost alarmed. “Can you hear it now?”

“I can.” He says through gritted teeth. “Speak of something else. Anything.”

“The Inquisition, then. How fares their attempts to bring order to the Dales?”

Sama laughs. “Can we not speak of the Inquisition? Or anything to do with our work?”

“Then what would have us discuss.”

“Kieran.”

Morrigan smiles. “He is well. He misses you.”

“And I him. Letters are not enough for me.”

“Nor are they for him, but he enjoys the gifts you send.” She narrows her eyes. “You spoil him.”

“He’s my son. I think I’m allowed to.” Sama looks around the dance floor once more. The song is reaching the climax, and will soon end. He’s almost afraid of the prospect of letting Morrigan go, of watching her walk away from him again for Creators know how long. He’s terrified. Their time is running out. “Is he here? In the palace?”

“No. I took him… somewhere safe.”

“Somewhere safe?”

“I dare not say for fear of someone hearing.”

“Is he alone?”

“Unfortunately yes, but I will fetch him once the night is won.”

“How can you be sure -”

“Do you think I would leave our son in danger? Do you believe me to be that callous?” Morrigan’s tone is harsh and her face angry, but Sama does not rise to it.

“You know I don’t.”

“Then why suggest it?”

“Because I’m worried. And you know that.” A pause. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“I know.”

They dance in silence for a few moments. And then -

“You should come to Skyhold,” he says out of nowhere. “Both of you.”

“Would that I could, my love.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I highly doubt the Inquisitor wants a ten year old boy running around his fortress.”

“Skyhold is big enough to not notice him. Besides, he hardly runs around like most kids.”

“That’s because he isn’t most children.”

“Morrigan.”

She sighs. “You of all people know that I would want nothing more than to be by your side. But, until my work here is finished, then we shall remain here.”

He hates this. He hates this world and all of the terrible things within it. “And how long will that be?”

“It could be tomorrow. It could be in a week. It could be in months, or perhaps even years. I see the future just as clearly as you.” His face must betray his heartbreak, for she then says, “But trust me when I say that the three of us will be together again soon, and, when that time comes, it will be forever.”

The song is coming to a close.

“Can I see him?” Sama asks, and he cannot even be sorry for the pleading tone in his voice. “Tonight, when all is done, can I see him?”

“I will take you to him,” Morrigan says softly. “It will do us three good to be a family again, even if just for a night.”

“Thank you,” Sama says quietly. “I love you.”

“And I you.”

The dance comes to an end with crescendo from the musicians, and Sama spins Morrigan out again, their arms outstretched, and they stop like that to raucous applause from the spectators around the floor. But he can’t revel in their applause, for his time with Morrigan, for now, is at an end.

There is no emotion on her face; she was always good at masking herself. Sama tries to uphold his own mask, but he allows himself one small show of affection. He bows low and kisses the knuckles of her hand, and she, in front of the entire court, gives him a curtsey.

Then it’s over. She walks one way and he, heavy hearted, walks another.

+

In the end, he helps the Inquisitor in the fight against Grand Duchess Florianne.

It’s a long and arduous fight, and when the Duchess finally falls after Falon’s lightning strikes her square in the chest and kills her, he can’t help but be gleeful that the woman is finally dead given how much of a pain she was to fight. They return to the ballroom to both shock and applause, people reeling at the revelation of the Duchess’ loyalties but reveling in the Inquisitor’s triumph.

Florianne isn’t the only casualty of the night, however; her brother, Grand Duke Gaspard, has his treachery revealed before the entire court, and is sentenced to death by the Empress. Ambassador Briala, however, keeps her head and regains her relationship with the Empress; she is made the Marquise of the Dales, and Sama cannot help the swell of pride in his chest for her, knowing that this is a chance for the elves of the empire to finally have betters lives.

Speeches are made, music is played, drinks are served, and the members of the Inquisition are passed between crowds until Sama is thoroughly dizzy and tired of the attention. Luckily, many of the nobles are far too drunk to notice much of anything at this late hour, so Sama is easily able to sneak away to the gardens, which have emptied considerably as the night has worn on.

He places his glass goblet down on the marble railing and loosens his jacket and the top buttons of his dress shirt. His hair has come loose since the fight and hangs in his face irritably; he pulls it out of the elaborate braid Leliana had styled it into and ties it back in its usual messy bun style. The heavy earrings Ambassador Montilyet had purchased for him come out next and lay discarded on the railing. Then his gloves come off, and his hands, which had sweated throughout the fight, feel better in the cool air. He leans against the railing then, and sips his drink, watching a pair of drunk noblemen in the lower garden dance in circles to an equally drunk bard’s terrible tune.

He stays like this a while, watching the drunk men and the drunk bard sing and dance like it was Satinalia. The wine is strong, and his mind is fairly addled by the time his beautiful lady slinks into the garden and comes to stand beside him, her fingers just barely brushing his own.

“Fools,” she says, looking down at the three drunks. Her tone is missing its usual bite, however. Something is on her mind. “The true war has not yet ended.”

“Let them celebrate,” Sama says. His voice is slurred - just how much wine has he drunk?

“Sounds like you’ll be joining them soon enough,” Morrigan says, a touch exasperated. “Please inform me if you intend to wear your sash around your head again. I almost died of mortification the last time.”

“I’ve done that three times in ten years, will you ever let it go?”

“Never.”

Sama can’t even bring himself to be annoyed with her. The second he makes eye contact with her his heart melts into a puddle of love so sickly it even makes him feel like gagging. The wine is going to his head; he wants nothing more than to touch her, to kiss her, to pull her flush against his body and act like they were two idiots just beyond the cusp of adulthood, exploring a relationship where neither one of them wanted to act too fast lest they scare the other off. He wanted to explore her body, to fall in love with every curve and scar once more. He wanted to hear her moan, the sweet nothings she whispered into his ears in the middle of the night, wanted to feel her fingers in his hair. He wanted _her_.

_Just a little longer_ , he tells himself, a mantra he’s been repeating in his head over and over since their dance hours before. _Just a little longer_.

Morrigan turns to him with the slightest upturn of her lips. “This news will please you greatly.”

“Oh?”

“The Empress has named me liason to the Inquisition,” she says, and she threads her fingers through his. Her touch is hot, white hot; he almost curses the gloves she wears for denying him the feel of her skin. “I will be joining you in Skyhold. As will Kieran.”

The swell of joy in his chest is so great that his heart nearly bursts from it. The idea knocks him dizzy; he’d been expecting a single day to spend with his family at the end of this night, one where he would have a scant few hours to spend with his son and his love before he would have to leave them again for months on end. He’d been setting himself up for the happiness of the reunion and the torture of the separation all night.

And now, he doesn’t need to worry.

They’ll be coming to Skyhold. They’ll be living together again. A family. Happy. He doesn’t need to wait weeks or months. He can have them _now_.

He can’t stop himself.

He takes Morrigan by the waist and kisses her. She makes a noise, surprised at his sudden display of affection. She pushes at his chest and they break apart; he can’t help the pouting look on his face.

“There are eyes everywhere,” she says.

“And?”

“And it will set tongues wagging.”

“Since when have you cared what other people think of you?”

“Since never.”

And she kisses him, just as desperate as he had been.

The drunks in the lower garden are cheering. Whether it's for the Empress, for the two lovers kissing in the moonlight, or for their own drunken joy doesn’t matter. All that matters to him is the feel of her body against his, and the rest of the world melts away.

**Author's Note:**

> if you spot any spelling mistakes i might have missed or have any comments so i can improve don't hesitate to comment - this is my first real DA fic and the first time i've ever written morrigan so i'm open for criticism
> 
> thank you!


End file.
